


Sam/Bucky Ficlets

by rivlee



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Other, Riley Lives (Captain America movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7019959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Sam/Bucky prompt fills and ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Didn't Mean to Say That

**Author's Note:**

> All the ficlets within originally appeared on tumblr, mostly in the post-CA: WS era.

The thing between them was new, tentative, fresh and just started, and Bucky was still learning the currently accepted behaviors of romantic declarations. And Sam? Sam was amazing, understanding, funny, attentive, and he made Bucky feel safe and comfortable, but it was still new. And Bucky? Bucky had always fallen hard; not often, not fast, but when he did? It was intense.

So Bucky knew he was in love with Sam. Knew he wanted to spend the rest of his years, however few or many those happened to be, with him by the end of their third date. He’d even told Steve as much when he’d gotten home that night.

He’d met Sam’s family, he’d spent hours talking with Riley, he’d even been allowed to take Redwing to the vet all on his own, but it’d only been four months, and from what he could gather, it was still considered too early to tell Sam just, exactly, how much he loved him.

Bucky thought it was bullshit to hold his tongue, but the last thing, the very last thing he ever wanted to do, was make Sam feel pressured or uncomfortable. So every time they parted he forced himself to bite back those words. And it sucked, because Bucky knew how quickly you could lose those you loved and knew that Sam knew the same.

So of course all his careful planning had to be undone by something as stupidly simple as breakfast–-pancakes to be exact. Pancakes made with mint chocolate chips and raisins. Pancakes Sam only made for Bucky. Pancakes that he’d brought over on a cold, rainy, Friday night because Bucky had texted him that he was cold and hungry.

“Christ, I love you,” Bucky said as he opened the door.

Sam looked at him with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” Bucky said and grimaced. “Pretend I never said that.”

“Like hell,” Sam said. “Let me inside so I can put these down and then see how long you and that arm can hold me up.” He pulled Bucky in for a long, lingering kiss. “I love you, too.”

In the end the pancakes were cold, but still the best Bucky ever had.


	2. The One with the Laundry Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For SamBucky Week 2014, Day Seven. Sam, Bucky, and a laundry mishap in a modern!au.

Bucky Barnes had admittedly done some stupid shit in his life; from base jumping to dyeing his hair platinum blond to joining the military on a whim because he thought it was less terrifying than a lifetime of student loans. That last decision had actually cost him an arm, but he got a shiny metal experimental prosthetic in its place and all the Tin Man jokes in the world to amuse him.

Still–getting all the way up to his apartment with another man’s laundry and not realizing it for a whole day until he finally got around to putting it away? That kind of felt like it’d win him the Dumbass of the Year Award.

He did the only sensible thing he could think of; he called the only person he knew who he felt an actual adult.

“What’d you do this time?” Steve asked.

“Why are you answering Peggy’s phone? If I wanted to call your sorry ass, I’d call you. I need the Wisdom of Carter, not the Advice of Rogers that Will Surely Get Me Arrested,” he said.

“That was one time and you only got a citation,” Steve said.

“And a burned off eyebrow,” Bucky said.

“It grew back,” Steve said. “Your grandma even taught you how to pencil one in.”

“It was right before Picture Day, Rogers,” Bucky said. “I still don’t trust you around an open flame.”

“Neither does Peggy,” Steve said. “Thanks for that, by the way. Whenever she sees me near a candle I get a long lecture on fire safety. She’s taking a nap, so unless you’ve actually stumbled across a Doomsday Device and set it off by tripping into it or some bullshit, I’m not going to bother her.”

Peggy deserved some uninterrupted rest. Bucky didn’t want her bothered either. It seemed like he’d just have to settle for Steve; this could end in fire extinguishers.

“So, if hypothetically speaking you accidentally stole a basket of someone else’s laundry because you have the same exact basket and apparently a penchant for the same clothing color scheme, how would you go about returning it?”

Steve was quiet for a good minute and a half. Bucky timed it.

“Dude, what the actual fuck?”

Bucky sighed. “Look, I may have fallen asleep while watching tv and waiting for my clothes to finish their dryer cycle. I just figured someone dumped my shit in my basket, on top of the dryer I was using I want to add, and took over the machine. I can’t blame them for that; I just didn’t realize it wasn’t my shit until today.”

“ _Today_?” Steve asked. “Bucky, how long have you been holding another man’s boxers hostage?.”

“Only a day,” Bucky said. “It’s not like I meant to do it. Jesus, who puts their clothes away right after they’re done? I had shit to do.”

“Like watch _Southern Fried Homicide_?”

“Fuck you,” Bucky said. “It’s a good show.”

“Buck,” Steve said. “Just…go down by your mailboxes and the laundry room and see if anyone’s posted a note demanding their clothes back. Fix this before it goes from _Honest Mistake_ to _Make the Lambs Stop Screaming_.”

“Right,” Bucky said. “That’s probably a good idea.”

********

Someone had stapled his SpongeBob boxers (in a Ziploc bag at least) to the bulletin board in the laundry room. There was a note taped to the bag. It read: _Show me mine, and you’ll get yours back. Come to 12D with my laundry and only my laundry_.

Bucky never ventured up to the twelfth floor. He liked his fellow people on five, and had little desire for roof access. He _had_ accidentally stolen another guy’s briefs though, and that required a journey out of his way if only for apology’s sake.

Bucky smoothed down his hair and shirt as the elevator climbed the floors. He didn’t quite know how to explain this one, but hopefully the guy was cool about it. It was completely an honest mistake. He didn’t think that should make him an enemy for life.

He took a deep breath when he got to 12D before he knocked. Then cursed at himself as his metal knuckles scrapped the shellac they all had on their doors.

The door quickly opened and–holy shit. Life was just not fucking fair this week. It was Ridiculously Handsome V-A Guy. Bucky had only been harboring a crush on him ever since he dropped in on one of his meetings. He stopped going after just the one time, figuring lusting after your councilor was not a good thing for his treatment and all.

Life really loved to fuck with James Buchanan Barnes some weeks. This was obviously one of them.

“You SpongeBob?” the guy asked.

“Uh, yeah. Bucky actually.”

The guy’s eyes narrowed. “Seriously?” he asked.

“Nickname,” Bucky said. He held out the laundry basket. “I’m sorry. I swear to god, I thought these were mine. I didn’t go through them or anything, but I’ll totally cover a whole re-wash and re-dry.”

“I think I can cover it myself, but thanks.” He held the door open. “Come on in. Piper decided your clothes were her new home, so I should really be offering to pay for yours anyway.”

“Nah, man,” Bucky said. “Totally my fault.” He curiously looked around the apartment. An actual record-player with stacks of vinyl, an enviable home theater system, a couch that looked like it was perfect for napping, and a tiny little red beaked bird in a large, wide cage.

“Nemo. She’s a zebra finch. My niece named her.”

“Not Piper then?” Bucky asked.

“That’s the cat.”

Before Bucky could even think of a Sylvester & Tweety joke, a yowling sound came from the couch. Sure enough there was a tiny grey cat curled up on one of his hoodies.

“She’s basically imprinted on that one. Never knew my cat was a Dodgers fan.”

“I’m not even much of one, if we’re being honest. I just live in denial and hope that one day baseball will come back to Brooklyn.”

“A man can dream.” He picked up Piper and put her on one of the cushions, picking up Bucky’s basket before she could jump back in. “I guess now it’s time for the hostage exchange.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He tried to pretend like he didn’t feel the electricity shoot up his arm when their fingers touched. He wanted to blame it on a malfunction, but it was his flesh and bone hand that tingled.

“I’m Sam, by the way.”

His fingers were still warm against Bucky’s own. He could even feel the pressure sensors respond on his metal hand.

“Nice to meet you, Sam,” Bucky said. He should leave before he made even more of an ass of himself. Sam had that kind of smile though, the one that made you want to lean close and spill every little secret, the good, the bad, and the dirty, and Bucky could talk if given the right audience.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

“No thanks needed,” Bucky said. “It was my fuck-up.”

“Honest mistake,” Sam said. “At least you tried to find the owner. Sorry for pining your boxers to a wall. I figured they were kind of identifiable.”

Bucky really wasn’t bothered by it. He’d once run through a war zone with his ass hanging out, one hand on his BDUs and the other his rifle, because he only ever got shot at when he was trying to have a moment to himself. His boxers on a wall? Least embarrassing thing to happen to him in the past year.

“Hey, you put them in a bag. No big,” Bucky said.

Sam grinned and Bucky felt his knees start to tremble.

“I should go,” he blurted out. “You know, let you get on with…life.”

Sam shrugged as he dumped his basket on the couch. “I was about to make lunch. Wouldn’t mind sharing it with some company. I don’t get to cook for other people much these days. Besides, I want to hear the story behind your very _animated_ underwear choices.”

“My best friend is an animator,” Bucky said. “He was sick a lot as a kid, so I’d climb into his bed and we watch cartoons all day, read comic books, compare art styles and shit like that. I don’t know, Sam. I guess I just figured life’s too short for boring underwear.”

“Fair point,” Sam said. “So, lunch?”

Bucky’s stomach rumbled and Piper had curled around his feet to attack his bootlaces. Even the bird had its beady eyes trained on him. Bucky felt like there would be animal-related consequences if he said no.

“Sure,” Bucky said.

He put his basket down and laughed as Piper immediately abandoned his foot for his hoodie. He glanced up at Sam who had a pleased expression on his face, looking like he was trying to hold back a laugh.

“I think I’d really like to stay,“ Bucky said.

“We’d love to have you,” Sam said.


	3. The One with the Pile of Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fluff and yard work.

The first few years after Bucky regained himself, he’d spent the months roaming the world as he discovered who he wanted to be now and took out what he considered the highest priority of threats for his continued freedom. He hadn’t been home for the holidays, no matter if they fell in late May or mid-December. He hadn’t had a home to go to; no actual or proverbial fires to stand around and warm his hands as well as his soul.

His life changed when two strong arms plucked him out of the sky as a shoddy roof gave way under his boots. Sam Wilson took Bucky to safe ground, and then later, after months of working side-by-side for Natasha, for Steve, and for their own purposes, Sam took Bucky home.

Bucky had spent a whole year in this place; a small town up the Hudson River in New York State. It was easy to get into the city by train, and far enough removed from where everyone expected them to live, but close enough to their family in case of emergencies, invasions, and the apocalypse. They had a mailbox and a lawn and their own vegetable garden. They had a porch with rocking chairs, a flock of lawn flamingos gifted to them by one Clint Barton, and a whole set of various-sized pumpkins on the stairs.

They also had a massive amount of trees and a whole sea of leaves to rake. Sam had offered to hire one of the local kids to take care of it, and Bucky agreed to give the kid a chance to earn some extra cash, but only for the front yard. The back, with their garden, the patio, the ever-expanding kingdom of lawn gnomes, and the small stream that ran just beyond their property line, was all Bucky’s territory. He still wasn’t over the fact he had a yard; that so much space legally belonged to both him and Sam and it was theirs.

“You and Steve are the only people I know who get sentimental and teary-eyed over mortgages,” Sam said. “I get why, but it’ll never get old watching you get all wistful over yard work.”

“Never in my wildest dreams did I think I could have it,” Bucky said. He leaned down and picked up one of the fallen leaves; a vibrant red-gold stark against the silver metal of his hand. “It’s beautiful, you know?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He had a soft look on his face, even though most of it was hidden under a huge scarf.

“Still cold?” Bucky asked.

He’d dumped his own sweater on one of the patio chairs after he’d finished raking up his fifth pile of leaves. He could feel the sweat drying on his skin and the cool bite of early evening air in his lungs. He couldn’t get over the smell though; of the dirt, the leaves, and the hints of fire from someone else’s charcoal grill. Sometimes he missed the city and its sounds when he couldn’t sleep because crickets and frogs were not honking horns and the distant clack of train wheels on subway tracks; this was not one of those nights.

“It’s freezing out here,” Sam said as he tugged down his scarf. “Not that you’d noticed, stripped down like you’re Mr. October.”

“It’s not…” Bucky trailed off as he thought of the best way to put it. “The idea of cold is different for me now.”

“I know,” Sam said, because he did. Bucky had spent hours talking to him about the memories, dreams, and ramifications of his many years as the weapon he once was.

Sam propped his rake against the wall and walked over to Bucky. “Doesn’t mean I won’t still worry about you getting sick out here.” His lips were warm as they pressed against Bucky’s cheek. “Come inside, Buck. Leaves will still be here tomorrow. I’ll even break out the hot chocolate and marshmallows.”

“Yard’s almost done though,” Bucky said. “Might as well finish it.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m calling quitting time. You can stay out here and freeze your balls off, or come inside and join me in the shower. I gotta tell ya, I don’t see this one as a tough decision.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered between his perfectly complete piles, and the content look on Sam’s face. It really wasn’t a tough decision.

“Whoops,” he said as he hip-checked Sam into the highest pile. “Guess I’ll have to fix that tomorrow.”

“You’re an asshole,” Sam hollered at him as Bucky headed toward the house.

“I love you,” Bucky called back as he ducked inside. The least he could do was get the shower started and the temperature set to Sam’s preference. He really did want that mug of hot chocolate later.


	4. The One with the Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A modern magical AU

Sam came into his magic on the streets of Harlem. He learned to pull power from the energy running through the city; to make mazes out of brick, steel, and concrete, to fly like the pigeons he helped his grandpa track from the rooftops. Most kids wanted an owl or a cat or something otherwordly for their animal companions; Sam had his pigeons, the city’s rats, and even some cockroaches as his familiars. He had tried his first flying spell while jumping over the top of subway cars, chasing after his sister as she made creatures out of magic and debris left on the street.

He missed those days; using sewer grates as portal markings and abandoned subway tunnels to practice his craft, to meet the other kids like him, to learn the guidelines of magic, and how to control it, and how to stay safe in a world that had yet another reason to look upon him with suspicion. Some kids had the Boys & Girls club for after-school activities; Sam had lessons with Isaiah Bradley and Monica Rambeau.

Sam never expected to find himself so far removed from that familiar world and its surroundings. He never expected to wind up in a small mountain town that was the exact opposite of everything Sam had ever known. This was Riley’s home though, and his best shot at a decent recovery. People like them? They always healed quicker in their own territory.

“It takes some getting used to, you know. All that open space and fresh air.”

Sam looked out across the small parking lot of the local post office to find the source of that voice. He saw a man leaning against the door of a small store who waved at him with a shiny, metal hand. Sam found himself on the move before he could think, drawn to the hints of a welcome smile and eager to hear more of those words. The accent held a stress on the vowels that made Sam long for home.

“Not from here either?” he asked as he approached the shop front. The sign claimed it was called _The Barnacle_. “Seriously?” Sam asked as he gestured at the name. “We’re at least five hours away from the ocean.”

“It’s an old joke,” the man said. He held out his hand. “Bucky Barnes. Grew up in Brooklyn a lifetime ago.”

“Sam Wilson–-Harlem,” he said as they shook hands. Bucky’s arm flashed from metal to a mimic of Sam’s own, and back to its original metal state. “Did you just take a DNA sample from me and replicate it without my permission?”

Bucky shrugged. “The arm kind of has a mind of its own.”

“You must have invented a whole new version of Stop Hitting Yourself then,” Sam mumbled.

Bucky’s eyes widened before he shook his head and let out a low, raspy laugh. “You don’t even know the half of it. This arm broke me out of prison once.”

“World’s largest lock pick? You some kind Inspector Gadget?”

“I was on the other side of the cell door,” Bucky said. “You come inside and buy something, I might tell you the rest of the story.”

Even if Sam had zero plans on buying shit he didn’t need, he was amused by the inherent swagger of the guy.

“Is that how you make all your sales?” he asked.

“Gotta have a gimmick,” Bucky said. “You don’t even have to pay in money. I’ll take a story instead.”

“You a Collector?” Sam asked. He’d heard of them; met one in Jessica Jones who carried the stories of so many other souls within herself.

“Of a sort,” Bucky said. “Or I could just be a nosy-ass new neighbor wondering how some city wizard wound up a few thousand miles away from his home. Or maybe I’m a government plant to collect information on your movements.”

“Or a combination of all three,” Sam said.

“Don’t you want to find out?” Bucky asked. His eyes were bright, clear, and teasing as he watched Sam decide.

“What if I like the mystery?”

“Come inside anyway,” Bucky said. “I’ve got a whole section of those for you to ponder over.”

Sam liked thought-out plans and structure. He wasn’t given over to rash decisions, but even he to admit that some of the best things in his life came about because of a whim.

“Why the hell not,” he said. “Let’s see what you have to offer.”


	5. The One with the Grocery Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never let Bucky shop for dairy products on his own.

There were three refrigerated wall sections of milk. Cow, goat, soy, almond, coconut, lactose free were the options; in boxes, in jugs, in bottles, organic, organic with DHA Omega-3, whole, 2%, 1%, ½ %, and fat free, in flavors of plain, chocolate, and vanilla. Buttermilk and smoothies and something called kefir and Bucky just wanted to buy milk because that’s what his part of the list said and fuck this Sam was supposed to handle the dairy and frozen sections. The only thing more terrifying than the milk was the whole back wall of yogurt that could easily fit the length of their bedroom. 

Some young lady ran into him with her cart and Bucky stepped out of the way, staring after her as she walked off without apologizing or pausing in her oh so important phone conversation. Bucky backed up as he took in all the choices and rested against the door of one of the freezer sections. He looked down to see at least ten different flavors of ice cream with a cheerful sign that informed him they were _Buy One, Get One Free!_ and _New Lower Prices!_. 

He pulled out his phone and tapped the square with Sam’s smiling face.

“Help me,” he said as soon as it picked up. 

“You okay?” Sam asked. 

“There’s too much dairy. How many different fucking types of milk do people need?”

A balding man with glasses tutted at him and Bucky resisted the urge to tell him he fought and was declared Missing in Action during World War II _twice_ , so fuck off. He didn’t want the lecture from Sarah Wilson again about proper ways to react to the general public when they were being rude assholes and you were kind of a living historical figure. She’d used slides and musical accompaniment the last time including a whole section of the Wilson clan singing together a chorus that consisted of _Don’t be an asshole, Buck_. 

“I got you covered,” Sam said. “Just stay where you are.”

“Hurry up,” Bucky said. “Some of these milk cartons are full with frighteningly happy people and animals and they’re staring at me.”

“Just focus on the cheery pop music playing over the loudspeakers,” Sam said before he hung up.

Bucky had been back in his own mind for three years now, but he’d still didn’t see the appeal of a song with _Drive By_ in the title.

“You pull off Little Boy Lost so well,” a voice very definitely not-Sam said.

“Riley,” Bucky greeted. “How you doing, man?” 

Riley presented his hand for what Bucky knew now was called a fist-bump and he smiled when Bucky complied. He had a basket perched on his lap and a collection of empty tote bags secured to the handles of his wheelchair.

“Leigha know you’ve got a box of Moon Pies stashed under that bag of frozen peas?” Bucky asked.

Riley winked. “I’m hoping I can beat her to the registers. She’ll be stuck in Seafood forever. She’s got a crush on the guy who works the counter there.”

“Toro?” Bucky asked. “Yeah, he’s kind of cute.”

Riley grinned. “I am _so_ telling Sam you said that.”

“It’s what he deserves for sending me over here to get milk and yogurt without any other specifications. He keeps three different kinds in the fridge. How am I supposed to know which one is magically out?” Bucky asked. He checked his phone. “Where the hell is he? How long does it take to get some deli meat sliced?”

“Knowing Sam? At least thirty minutes. Everyone likes to talk to him,” Riley said. “Always been the way. Probably why he sent me over here to stop you from taking out a milk shelf.”

“You couldn’t have started off with that?” Bucky asked.

Riley shrugged. “Still have my ways of getting my intel. Now, farm boy, fetch me that gallon of store brand 2% milk for your house and a half-gallon of the 1% for me. Oh, and some dark chocolate almond milk. Leigha doesn’t frown when I drink that, and I figure if I lay off the Hershey’s syrup she’ll let the Moon Pies slide when it’s unpacking time.”

Bucky grabbed their stuff and a large container of yogurt that _looked_ like the kind Sam usually ate. It had a blue label and claimed to be _French Vanilla Low Fat_ and Sam could just deal. Bucky usually took care of the non-perishables; any complaints were strictly not his problem.

He followed Riley back through the store, stopping for free bread and cookie samples and picking up a couple fresh loaves and a container of coconut pecan cookies, before tracking down Sam _still_ at the deli counter. 

“His dance card’s full,” Bucky said as he wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist.

“Twice over,” Riley said as he stared down the young kind weighing a pound of sliced turkey. 

“Hello Ball,” Sam said to Riley. “And chain,” to Bucky. “Leave the poor kid alone. He was only asking me about the Air Force.”

“Army’s better,” Bucky said.

“Two-to-one overruled,” Riley said. “Besides we have War Machine.”

Bucky stared at the two of them. “Really? We have _Captain America_.”

“Yeah, but Rhodes is a Colonel now. He outranks Rogers,” Riley said.

“Living legend,” Bucky argued.

“Stargate,” Riley said.

“M*A*S*H,” Bucky shot back.

Riley frowned. “Okay, I’ll give you that point.”

“Jesus, you two,” Sam said. “They’re both important branches of our military full of extremely dedicated men and women, but if the kid wants to be a pilot there are a few different factors to consider.” He took his whole stack of meat and cheeses and dropped them in the cart. “Sorry about them,” he told the wide-eyed kid behind the deli counter

“Watch your tone there, kiddo,” Riley said to Sam. “Buck and I might just wheel off into the sunset. It’ll be the greatest romance ever told. How one man with a metal arm, and one man with metal pins and rods pretty much from his mid-section down found love in a metal-detector heavy world. We can make a Tin Man joke in our biography title. It’ll be awesome.”

Bucky turned his face into Sam’s neck and laughed. “He’s so going to write that story. It’ll probably be a bestseller.”

“Oprah Book Club material for sure,” Sam agreed. He rested his hand on the small of Bucky’s back. “Ready to go?”

“Don’t blame me if the milk or yogurt’s wrong.”

Sam looked at Bucky’s picks. “Close enough. Now, let’s get the hell out of here. I’m so fucking tired, man.”

“Told you we shouldn’t go shopping after work,” Bucky said as he took control of the cart and directed it toward the registers. 

“Yeah, but today is Senior Day. I want that 5% discount you get us. It’s worth it just to see the cashiers’ jaws drop,” Sam said.

“Except Angie’s working today and she know you two assholes by now,” Riley said.

“Does someone have a crush on Miss Angela?” Sam asked.

Riley gave him the finger. “We have the same physical therapist, asshole.”

“Love over the therapy mats?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were talking about your sex life now,” Leigha said as she appeared. She punched Sam in the arm, gave Bucky a kiss on the cheek, and ignored her brother’s knowing grin. “The crab cakes were on sale,” she said before Riley could make a comment. 

“Yeah, and apparently they come with some extra handwritten digits,” Riley said. He pointed to the bottom label of one of the packages of crab cakes in Leigha’s hands. “I’m sure Toro _just_ wants to make sure they come out okay.”

“I will push you right into that display of Corona if you say another word,” Leigha hissed.

“Hey, free shitty beer,” Riley said. 

Bucky exchanged a look with Sam and had to bite the inside of his lip hard to keep from busting out laughing in the middle of the grocery store and garnering attention from the people gathered in the attached Starbucks. That usually caused a bunch of cell phone pictures and phone calls from Sarah about ruining her brother’s sterling reputation with his dirty grins and wandering hands.

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love your friends,” Bucky said as they picked their line. He grabbed their reusable bags and started to open them. “I think I might love them best of all.”

He kind of deserved the pinch on his ass for that one. 

He perused the racks as they waited, dropped some gum and candy into their cart, and then saw a magazine with grainy photos of Steve , Natasha, and Sharon with a headline claiming _Steve Rogers’ Mysterious Love Triangle_. He showed it to Sam.

“Buy at least three. We need at least one extra for Natasha’s scrapbook,” he said. He tugged the magazine out of Bucky’s hand and flipped through it. “Oh, look at that.”

It was a candid shot of Sam and Bucky walking through their local farmer’s market hand-in-hand. There was a close up showing the ring on Sam’s left hand. The large text over it read _A Husband for Bucky?_.

“We’re buying ten of these,” Sam said.


	6. The One with the First Date

“I look like a jackass,” Bucky said. He frowned as he caught a glimpse of his hair in the mirror. It was short and styled with some sort of hair wax. “Are you sure this is how it’s supposed to look?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Natasha said. “You look nice, Barnes.” She glanced at his shirt. “Your hair looks nice, at least. Who gave you that shirt? Who told you flannel was in?”

Bucky liked the shirt; it was worn, comfortable, and smelled like springtime felt. “Steve. Kate helped me with the jeans and boots though.” He shifted. “Still don’t think the pants should be this tight.”

“You planning on having kids?” Natasha asked.

“Not really,” Bucky said.

“Then don’t worry about it,” she said. She threw him his leather jacket. “Can’t fix your shirt issues now. We’ll work on that this weekend, save any world ending plans. In the future, don’t take fashion advice from Steve.”

“He’s got a better grasp of it than I do,” Bucky said.

“Barely,” Natasha said. She looked at the clock. “You better get going; don’t want to keep your date waiting.”

“Right,” Bucky said. He tried to run a hand through his hair, but it got smacked away. “Sorry; force of habit.”

“Go before you ruin my work,” Natasha ordered.

“Yeah,” Bucky said.

He couldn’t get his feet to move.

He knew he shouldn’t be nervous. It was Sam. He liked Sam. Presumably Sam liked him since he asked Bucky out on a date. They got along. They had the same taste in shitty movies. They trusted each other. They spent a good portion of their free time together. Bucky could do this; he just had to get one foot in front of the other.

“Do you need me to drive you there?” Natasha asked.

“I can drive myself, Natasha,” he said.

“Really?” she asked. “You’ve been standing in the same spot for a minute and a half now. I’d drag you to your car, but then I’d mess up your hair and we’d have to start all over again.”

She had that certain gleam in her eye that Bucky knew made Steve twitch. That look usually ended in small explosives or someone getting thrown out of a building or onto a car or shot or all four. Bucky really didn’t want tonight to end in possible criminal charges or a jail break.

He forced his feet to move.

“Thanks, Natasha,” he said before he left.

“Call me with the details,” she yelled after him.

“Not a chance,” Bucky yelled back as he closed her door.

He waited until he was in the car and halfway down the street before he swept for bugs. He wouldn’t put it past Natasha to stick one in his jacket or shirt collar.

*********

Sam met him in the parking lot. He was leaning against his new car, and Bucky still grimaced whenever he thought about why he had to buy a new one. Ripping out a guy’s steering wheel on the highway and generally trying to kill him over the course of a weekend was probably the worst How-We-Met story in history, but Bucky wasn’t exactly playing with a full deck at the time.

“Hey,” Sam said when Bucky slid out of his car.

“Hi,” Bucky said.

Sam looked really damn good, shoes even shined, and Bucky could feel the blood rush to his face. He quickly ducked his head and cursed any god listening for why he still blushed at his age.

“You okay, Bucky?” Sam asked.

“Yeah just…” Bucky trailed off. He was distracted by the scent of Sam’s cologne. He usually didn’t wear any.

“I like the hair,” Sam said.

“Natasha,” Bucky said by way of explanation. He looked up again, caught the familiar, teasing smile on Sam’s face and relaxed. “I like the tie,” Bucky said. “Very professional of you.”

Sam laughed as he smoothed down the soft fabric. “Had to look my best,” he said. “Uncle of the show’s star and all. Not like I was trying to impress anybody.”

“Wouldn’t want to do that,” Bucky said. He shifted closer into Sam’s space. “People might start getting the wrong idea.”

“Wouldn’t want them to talk,” Sam said as he leaned into Bucky.

“It would be a shame,” Bucky agreed as he tilted his head closer.

“Absolutely,” Sam said as his lips almost brushed Bucky’s own.

“Samuel Wilson if you don’t hurry up and kiss that Barnes boy so we can go watch my daughter in her stage debut, there will be a world of consequences,” Sarah Wilson yelled from the school’s entrance.

Bucky dropped his head on to Sam’s shoulder and laughed, even as Sam’s arms slipped around his waist and a soft kiss was pressed to his forehead.

“I promise no family members will be present on our second date,” Sam said.

“Don’t get cocky, Wilson,” Bucky said. “We’ll see if you’ve earned a second date by the end of the night.”

“Oh, I’ll have earned a second and third date by the end of this night,” Sam said. “I think we know you can’t resist me. You did pluck me out of the sky.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bucky said as he slipped out of Sam’s arm and started to walk toward the school’s entrance.

Sam’s arm was a welcome weight as it settled across Bucky’s shoulders, resting securely over his metal shoulder. “Now, Buck, you should know before this goes any further that I’m a fourth date kind of guy.”

“Jesus, Sam,” Bucky muttered.

“Save it for the fourth date,” Sam said.


End file.
